


rage on against the dying light

by mysterytwin



Category: Trollhunters (Cartoon)
Genre: (at least it's implied that he's part changeling), Angst, Changeling!Jim, Gen, Self-Introspection, this season was so good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-15 13:47:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13032456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysterytwin/pseuds/mysterytwin
Summary: “You are the first human Trollhunter,” they tell him, but they never say why.





	rage on against the dying light

**Author's Note:**

> pls listen to somebody to die for by hurts! it's really good and basically inspired this whole thing
> 
> also if you're into bfu, [this fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12885909) by catherines_collections was also a huge inspiration

The bridge closes.

When Jim finally makes it home, the first thing he notices is how different the world seems to be. There’s light everywhere, there’s a soft hum in the wind, and his heart finds a slower pace. It starts to synchronize itself with those of others, a steady beat into the afternoon sun.

He breathes. In and out.

The air is different, somehow.

And of course it is, of course it’s different— _everything_ is different. The trees blow softly and the clouds come in colors he’s missed, the sun sets in the distance, bright as he remembers, and the world is different here. He’d almost forgotten so much.

Two weeks, two weeks may not have been too long, but every day he spent fighting for his life is just too much. The weight of the sword in his hands had started to feel exactly like the weight of two worlds pressed against his shoulder blades, the darkness finally realizing it was faster than light.

So as he stands upon the rock, he takes in the sights, the sounds, the feelings—the light. This is what home feels like, he tells himself, don’t ever forget it.

And Jim never forgets, but it’s not enough to _remember_.

 

* * *

 

Home.

He hugs his mom, taking her in and holding her close to where his heart lies, fingers clutched against cloth. Tears roll down his cheeks, salt against dirt, blue eyes filling up. He breathes, lets his rib cage expand with air he’s long forgotten to take in, and stands still. Remember this, too.

When he’s lying in his bed, he feels the soft pillow against his head and tries not to compare it to the cold, hard ground and the rocks he used as a pillow. His back aches, something deep inside of him twisting over the pain, holding out over the sheets of his bed. His skin loosens over places where bruises line up, where scars trace themselves deeper.

As much as he tries, his eyes won’t close. To close them only to reopen to the harsh green and black of the Darklands, to realize all of this is just a dream—maybe that would finally break him. Breaking points never seem too far away after a nightmare.

Somehow, his fingers find his phone and he’s dialing Toby before he can stop himself, waiting for the other end to pick up.

“Jim?” he says. “What’s wrong?” There’s worry around the edges of his words, sharpening the soft edges of hope. Jim realizes that Toby’s as tired as he is.

“I—” he tries to say, but the words die in his throat, faltering and never seeing the surface. “This—this is all real, right?”

When Toby’s voice comes through, it’s softer now, more delicate, like he’s treading through unknown waters—and Jim’s trying to find comfort that Toby knows him better than anyone and wouldn’t lie to him for the world. “Yeah, of course. You’re here. You’re alive.”

And something inside loosens, he lets out a breath, shaky and unsure. “Yeah. You’re here, too.”

“I always will be, Jimbo.”

When Jim closes his eyes for the night, he holds tight to Toby’s words. The sun is shining when he wakes, and he lets himself breathe and hold out for a few seconds longer. It’s okay.

After all, even the word hopeless is not void of hope.

 

* * *

 

He walks with Claire while watching the fireworks. Their fingers brush once, twice, and maybe two weeks ago he would’ve hesitated, but the now is different. He takes her hand and she smiles at him underneath the stars, eyes shining brightly.

It’s in that moment that she becomes his _somebody to die for_ —they all do.

Jim makes a promise to never leave again.

 

* * *

 

 

When he sleeps, he dreams of shadows and dark spaces. There are figures running across the walls, coming towards him but always missing right before they collide. The hairs on his neck stand up, and he holds his sword to his chest and keeps his stance wide.

But nothing ever comes.

It’s a vicious cycle, these nightmares, because Jim knows something—someone’s watching, waiting for him to tire out. And he doesn’t know who, doesn’t know why, it just happens. And he’s lost sometimes, he can’t see the ground beneath his feet or see through the mist. It’s dark all around him, closing in on him until it’s all he can breathe in.

Something waits. But it never strikes. It’s only a matter of time.

 

* * *

 

Somewhere along the line, he’s learned to find shadows instead of light. If you find the shadows, you find the point where light meets dark and you can stand on the edge, enough to see what lies on each side.

The line’s always been blurry.

 

* * *

 

“I am the Trollhunter,” Jim tells himself through gritted teeth and sweat and tears, “amulet or not.”

And he _is_ , there’s no denying that, but no one ever tells him how or why.

The amulet has never chosen a human before—why start now? Why start with Jim?

 

* * *

 

The Tribunal may never understand the reason why he went into the Darklands, and maybe his friends may never understand why he still fights for the amulet. He may have brought Gunmar into Arcadia, may have unleashed hell onto both worlds, but he’s not afraid to look at the Devil in the eye. He’s not afraid to die.

He’ll let himself drown in the fire this time around, but it will never burn him.

 

* * *

 

When he falls into The Deep and meets _this_ —this version of himself, a part of himself finally understands why.

 

* * *

 

“I’m not a troll,” he had told Bular a long time ago on a bridge, but now, he’s not so sure if he was telling the truth.

 

* * *

 

When he finds Strickler and Nomura in his home, the puzzle pieces fall into place.

Someone is at the center of both worlds, someone stands on the line in between, and finally, he understands why it’s him. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> hmu at superishs.tumblr.com!!


End file.
